Vessel
by sabriel-sensei
Summary: Hojo's justification and ponderings on Sephiroth and his birth mother. Warning: this story, while containing no sexually explicit material, deals with rape. Please read at your own risk.


Just to make it clear: I do not condone Hojo's actions. My mind at 2:45 in the morning took "The Rape of Lucrece" theory after listening to Nightwish's "Bare Grace Misery", which happens to be about that poem and ran with it. I don't own FFVII or any of its characters; though, if I had Hojo I would chuck him out a window and get Vincent and Lucrecia hooked up again.

He couldn't see why they insisted that this was wrong. He could find no real rhyme nor reason for it; she was asking for it, was she not? Women like her needed to stay within their boundaries, and do what their bodies were built for.

That is, bear children. That woman had no business in Shinra; she was young and rash and prone to having the sorts of opinions better left to people who were smarter than she, like himself. She paraded around that laboratory like she owned the place, announcing her ideas as if they were worthy of the great scientists to whom she spouted them off. Her attitude was nearly enough to make him vomit. He didn't understand how his colleagues could ever stand these women. Sure, he enjoyed sex when it came around to him, but he couldn't stand talking with women. There were like dogs to him, pleasurable only if you let them know who was on top, both literally and figuratively speaking. He had tried dropping hints for her, but they just flew neatly over the top over her pretty little head.

Then there was Jenova. She had been signed on to be his partner in the Jenova Project, for a reason unknown to both of them. He had always worked without any help, so it was pure torture having that woman following him around like a fly, buzzing in his ear at all hours of the day. She asked so many questions; wasn't she supposed to know these sorts of things? He told her this matter-of-factly, to which she responded brightly, "That's why I'm here, Dr. Hojo. To learn."

Despite her faults, there was no denying she was an attractive woman. She dressed conservatively for her age, but every so often her skirt would ride up as she sat down, or he would snatch a glimpse of her ample cleavage as she bent over a microscope. Hojo enjoyed these moments immensely and occasionally fantasized about sleeping with her. These urges did not bother him as they bothered his colleagues; after all, it was only a natural instinct. People like Lucrecia fervently believed that sex was the product of love, and that it was something special to be shared. But if that were so, then every species would have died out long ago. Love was frivolous and unnecessary, and only a hindrance to the continuation of mankind.

It was February when things began to change. Jenova's genetic code was cracked on the dawning of the new millennium, and it was decided that testing this on brave new discovery would begin immediately. It was at this time that Lucrecia would become sullen and withdrawn. It wasn't until after the incident that he learned that it was because of a particularly unhappy breakup between her and her boyfriend (there were examples of how useless love was all over the place, weren't there?). Whatever the cause, it was a welcome relief. She became docile and obedient, and performed what was expected of her, nothing more and nothing less. She brought Hojo and his colleagues tea and sake as they discussed where they would find a suitable host for Jenova's DNA, all the while never suspecting that the vessel they sought was standing right in front of them. They had suggested using a full grown human being as a host, but it was he who realized after extensive testing that no adult immune system would let Jenova peacefully take root. A fetus was needed, one that would accept Jenova's code as its own.

So, he did what was necessary. There was only one woman in Shinra with a fertile womb for the child - Lucrecia. It was a simple matter, really; people knew that he was a man devoted to his work, and they could care less if he stayed after hours. Like so, they could also care less if he requested that his assistant could stay as well. He backed her up to the counter, undressed her, and swiftly had sex with the woman. It was not rape, as he saw it. Rape was one of those silly ideas that society devoted itself to, this idea that sex required love. If that were so, the natural world would have died long ago. Sex was merely a means of continuing the species, and had nothing to do with commitment or this "love." Therefore, there was no such thing as rape.

He left her sprawled on the linoleum, emotionless and unresponsive. He could not tell, nor did he care, how she felt. She was merely a vessel for his creation.


End file.
